Big Trouble

A short story about uncooperative pets.

Photo by Adel Grober on Upsplash

First of all, I owe an apology to Cat Belue who I wrote about last week, for consistently misspelling her last name throughout the post. Sorry, Cat! Thanks for being such a good sport.

THIS STORY IS AVAILABLE IN AUDIO. LISTEN HERE.

“Listening to you read really takes the story to another level.” Author Deb Siness

Please enjoy the audio version here.

Feeling like the most curmudgeonly of curmudgeons, Murphy found herself telling the pack “No!” Not in her usual grumpy way that the animals just ignored, either, but in an emphatic tone that made ears prick up all around the room. Even Cat, who usually eschewed such directives, sat quietly with the rest of the pack that was clustered around the human, tail swishing questions.

Frankly, they were flabbergasted. Murphy wouldn’t let them go outside, had literally forced them to come indoors. What was this? After a few minutes of sitting at attention Big Martha began pawing impatiently, huge feet beating on the oak plank floor. When plates began rattling on the table, Murphy cleared her throat.

“There have been a few complaints,” she announced.

So what? thought the dogs collectively. Murphy forgot to bring in the recycling bin again? Big deal.

The Cat, who had a flair for metaphor that she was not afraid to use, was never one to agree too quickly with the dogs and she had a different idea. This is trouble, she thought. These rrrridiculous mutts wouldn’t see that coming until it peed rrrright on their beds. She could tell something was off by the change in the hooman’s aura, which had shifted from lemony relaxed to panicky flame. A Murphy in flames was never good, and the pack was going to need to be extra protective of their hooman. Going forward, Cat would coordinate strategy and Big Martha would be in charge of the troops. But first, they needed to hear Murphy out. Seriously, what was the problem?

“It’s Appleton,” Murphy blurted, realizing there was nothing to do but tell the truth, even though no one was going to like it. “He called the dog catcher on us.” There was a moment of stunned silence, then the dogs started howling, the cat began yowling, and the meeting turned into absolute bedlam. Murphy tried to shout them down.

“This is why you’re inside!” she bellowed. “I knew this would happen.” That part wasn’t entirely true — they were actually inside for a much worse reason the human hadn’t told them about yet.

Ashton Appleton, former town mayor, had moved in next door after he lost the last election. Downsizing, Murphy supposed. His final act as mayor had been to gut animal protection services and reinstate the dog catcher, whose directive was not protection, but extermination. The new mayor had overturned the measure, but it was still in effect for one more week. Appleton knew there was no time to waste if his plan to get rid of Murphy’s nuisance animals once and for all was to succeed.

The dog catcher was deadly and on his way to their door.

Big Martha, the Great Pyrenees, calmed everyone down. She reassured Pipsqueak the nervous Chihuahua, put boisterous Albert the Puggle on notice, and Murphy she nuzzled. After a few minutes even Cat settled back into her usual impervious self.

“You have to be on-leash at all times when you’re outside now,” Murphy informed the pack. “That goes for you, too, Cat.” Albert growled, but at a glance from the Big Dog he quieted down, and the human continued, a little louder than before. “And for the love of Gup, please stop speaking in human language around him!” she implored. “He hears you! Especially at night, he thinks he’s hearing demons and he gets scared. It’s not nice. Be kind.”

Appleton was at his most dangerous when he was scared, Murphy knew, so her words served more than kindness, they also served safety. For now, she’d keep that part to herself. She was going to need to be extra protective of the animals until this threat was over.

After 24 hours of lockdown Murphy was no longer the only curmudgeon, everyone was getting cranky. The dogs considered parading around the neighborhood on-leash to be incredibly demeaning, and they could hear the other neighborhood mutts snickering at them from their yards. Everywhere they went, the dog catcher skulked behind them in a truck full of cages that were waiting for them. Peeking out through cracks in shuttered windows as the evening wore on, they could see him lurking at their curb throughout the night.

The pack were very, very careful, but quickly bored. Pipsqueak passed the time by learning new Taylor Swift songs and Albert started getting into the trash, until Big Martha put a stop to it. Albert whined about that and threw himself down in a sullen heap in front of the television.

By day two Cat had taken to the attic in solitary retreat, where she deliberated their next move. The answer came in the form of a small creature that waddled out at midday from behind a stack of dusty boxes. At first, Cat thought she might eat it, but then it spoke and she hesitated.

“What did you say?” Cat asked it.

“I said I know how to get rid of the dog catcher,” squeaked the critter. “If you’ll kindly let go of my leg I’d be happy to tell you.”

No one was ever quite sure what species Critter was. It had a potato-shaped body with bristly mottled fur and tall, spindly legs. Its pointed muzzle and large whiskers gave it a rat-like look from some angles, but its most striking feature were the delicate pointed ears, skin so thin they were almost translucent. You could see right through those ears whenever sunlight caught up with them, which wasn’t often, as Critter hated bright light and clung to shadows.

Cat delicately withdrew the single claw with which she’d snared the critter and it shook itself off, then sat up on hind legs to face her.

“Whew,” it said. “That was close! Lucky for me you’re a conversationalist.” When Cat only glared and said nothing in response, Critter figured it was best to get straight to the point. “Ashford secretly loves cats,” it whispered, as if afraid the neighbor might overhear.

Ashford? This creature was on a first-name basis with Appleton? Was it a spy? Without further ado, Cat snatched it by the scruff of the neck and carried the squealing critter downstairs for further inspection. To her surprise, when she dropped it at Murphy’s feet the human picked it up and cradled it. Critter burrowed into the crook of the Murphy’s elbow, hiding from the brightly lit room. The human tossed a blanket over it and Critter rustled around for a moment, then poked out its tiny head.

“Send the cat,” it squeaked. “He loves them.” Cat hissed and twitched like she wanted to swat the creature, but unfortunately, Murphy seemed to be protecting it now.

The pack had gathered round and several proposals were on the table.

“We should all just get in the camper and drive away!” Albert suggested, drawing a great cheer from the other dogs. Murphy quashed the idea by reminding them she wasn’t on vacation and still had to go to work every day. Albert hung his head with disappointment.

“Why don’t we attack the dog catcher!? Let’s everyone bite him and drive him off!” They were all so surprised to hear such violent aggression coming from the gentle Pipsqueak the room went silent for a beat. When its rhythm resumed, it was Big Martha’s turn to speak.

“Look, we can wait this out,” she said reasonably. “It’s only five more days. There’s no need for anyone to put themselves in danger. In fact, I have some activities in mind to keep us busy. It’s time to brush up on our guard-dog skills.”

Cat rolled her eyes. The idea of this bunch standing guard was ludicrous and she began cleaning her butt in a show of nonchalance.

“Cat can patrol the outer perimeter from the rooftop at night,” Big Martha went on, and Cat whipped around to face the big Pyranees. Wait, what?

“You can’t, no, no mustn’t, must not!” Critter squealed urgently. “Must not delay. Danger!” The thing was frantic now, positively jumping up and down in Murphy’s arms.

Murphy spoke to it softly, reassuringly. “What should we do, then? Tell us, will you? We would be most grateful.”

Critter soothed itself by washing its face with tiny paws, like a raccoon, before delivering the bombshell. When it spoke, it was abrupt.

“They’re planning to invade your home,” Critter shrilled. “With nets! And ropes! And sticks that bang.” Murphy’s blood ran cold realizing that last one meant guns. Would they, really?

“How do you know this?” Big Martha questioned, and Critter shrugged.

“I know all of it, all of it!” the creature told her, although no one was sure what it was referring to. “Chrys just not strong enough, not strong enough. Chrys weak, need help,” it wheedled. “Need help.” With that it trailed off and went silent. Narrowing her eyes, Cat began circling Murphy’s feet, tail held high. She didn’t trust the critter, not one bit. There was something it wasn’t telling them, and Cat was determined to find out what it was. Critter grew visibly more nervous with each pass of the cat below until finally it emitted a low moan, quite unlike the other noises it had been making. Cat grinned.

“Rrrrrady?” she purred, and Critter could take it no longer.

“I’m his conscience,” it shrieked. “And he tried to kill me!”

Murphy’s skin crawled when she heard that, for a man without a conscience poses great peril to everyone around him. There must be a way to reunite the two.

“Critter,” she began, but it interrupted her fiercely.

“No Critter,” it insisted. “Critter no name. I Chrysalis.”

“Chrysalis.” Murphy tried out the name, along with a bit of analysis. “Oh, I see. You are a cocoon holding the essence of your beloved, who spurns what you offer to give back to him. How tragic that must be for you, Chrysalis.”

“Oh, it is!” The little creature wept with deep, wracking sobs and when it finally regained its composure it turned back to Murphy. “You may call me Chrys,” it told her abruptly.

Cat, who by now was very sorry she hadn’t eaten the creature when she’d had the chance, watched this scene with disbelief. Murphy was being tender, which wasn’t like her. What was happening?

“The poor thing is a conscience without a person, can you imagine how terrifying that must be?” Murphy said to Cat, noticing the feline’s confusion. “It’s completely adrift. Appleton cast out his own conscience!”

It was appalling.

“It seems we have two choices,” posed Big Martha. “Either we take it back to Appleton, or we keep it.”

Cat flicked her tail with displeasure. She could think of another option, but apparently that was off the table now. The creature —Chrys — seemed to think there was something she —Cat — could do about its situation. Cat couldn’t imagine what that might be, and whatever it was, she had no intention of doing it. Not in her job description.

“You don’t have a job description,” Murphy remarked, reading the cat’s mind, then she had an idea. “What if we invite Appleton over for lunch? The dogs will stay out of sight and Cat and Chrys will entertain him. Maybe if he sees Chrys he’ll want it back.”

The critter screamed and burrowed into Murphy’s arms. “No, no, no,” it sobbed.

Pipsqueak piped up. “You mean you don’t want to go back with your person?” she asked. “Why ever not?”

Chrys popped up from underneath the blanket. “Don’t you get it?!” it snapped. “The bastard tried to kill me. Cast me out, then came after me with a hammer. Luckily, I’m much faster than he is. I’m not going back there, no f—king way!”

The pack gaped at the small animal in their midst uttering profanities. Something very odd was happening.

“Why are you talking like that?” Cat hissed. “What happened to the broken slang?”

“I find it’s best to be underestimated,” Chrys replied. “That way there aren’t as many expectations of one.”

Murphy and Big Martha looked at each other with the same thought. Had Chrys played them? But why?

Tension thickened as dusk turned into evening. The small dogs took up vigil at the doors and Big Martha kept check on the windows on all floors. In a flash of inspiration, Murphy rounded up every friend she could think of who also had dogs, and soon the house was crowded with laughter, snacks, dancing and four-footeds. Then the evening took an unexpected but very welcome turn — the new mayor showed up with some great news.

The room burst into applause when Angelina Cortez walked in.

“Thank you!” she said. “I have an announcement. I’ve just issued an emergency order overturning the Big, Beautiful Dog Catcher Bill. It’s done!”

Amid the wild cheering that followed, Murphy rushed to the window and she could see Vernon talking on the radio in his truck of cages. He looked more disappointed than angry as he slammed down the microphone. Murphy knew Vernon had five kids and a sick wife because he lived just down the block. Last summer he’d helped her repair her roof, and she’d taken them meals when his wife was in the hospital. She also knew he wouldn’t be getting any of the lucrative bonuses he’d been promised when he signed on for this job, because he hadn’t managed to capture his neighbor’s dogs. She heard the engine start, and watched with an unexpectedly complicated stew of emotions as Vernon drove away.

The pack stood at the ready behind Big Martha — Albert snarling, Pipsqueak trembling and Cat twitching. Chrys was curled into a tight little ball behind Cat until Murphy scooped it up.

“Brave little beast, aren’t you?” she cooed.

“I’d rather die in battle than waiting to be smashed by a hammer!” Chrys shouted.

“No one’s going to die today,” Murphy said. “Let’s bring it down a notch, shall we?” She double-checked out front, then threw the doors open wide. The party was on.

“We’re celebrating the addition of Chrysalis to our pack!” Murphy told the crowd. “A conscience looking for a soul, it is. For now it will be staying with us.”

Because who knew what might happen to an unattached conscience left all on its own?